


Don't Fear the Reaper

by BasilHellward



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Slash, S4 E02 'The Fear Reaper', Self-Harm, Swearing, Wordcount: 500-1.000, i don't feel vented, i know the title is awful and lazy don't @ me, jim and harv are like ridiculously codependent in this but just try and tell me that's not accurate, ok there's like 2 but still, very much a vent fic but I suck at writing feelings so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 22:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12285528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilHellward/pseuds/BasilHellward
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARMHarvey keeps his tone light on the occasions he squeezes Jim's shoulder and asksyou alright, partner?andhow're you holding up, kid?Jim dutifully fakes a smile and says he's better than ever. But the impulse scratches at the inside of his skull.





	Don't Fear the Reaper

**Author's Note:**

> There really should've been some kind of warning at the start of that episode, but writing this was a good enough distraction.  
> Unbeta'd, any and all mistakes are my own. If you see any, please point them out so I can fix them!  
> Edit: I fleshed this out a bit and I'm a little happier with it now. Not that it really matters, I'm just being a perfectionist, but yknow.  
> I'd say 'enjoy' but, well...

Jim focuses on the job for Harvey's sake. He tries not to think about the cut healing under his watch. He definitely doesn't long for the release, the strange kind of clarity that had come with the pain.  
He catches himself picking at the scab and rests his chin on his fist, digging his fingernails into his palm, and clenches his jaw. He tries not to think about it. But suddenly the case file in front of him is unreadable, the letters swirling and words rearranging themselves.

Harvey keeps his tone light on the occasions he squeezes Jim's shoulder and asks _you alright, partner?_ and _how're you holding up, kid?_  
Jim dutifully fakes a smile and says he's better than ever. But the impulse scratches at the inside of his skull and one day, for no reason in particular, he's helpless to ignore it.

His hands shake as he takes apart his cheap razor — or tries to. He resorts to smashing it against the sink and takes his time picking up the shards of plastic, not sure if he's savoring the build-up or delaying himself.  
He picks up the blade. Three quick swipes is all he allows himself. Just enough to take the edge off, enough to feel the sharp sting and the release he's craved these past few weeks. Just deep enough for the blood to bead and drip onto the porcelain.

Harvey notices the difference in how he acts. The next day, Jim shows up for work looking the same as he always does — aside from the stubble on his cheek— but he's calmer than usual, not so quick to temper. Later, celebrating another hard case closed, Jim flinches away when Harvey touches the back of his hand.

"Sorry," Jim says with a sheepish smile, his heart still hammering. It's not like it was unexpected — or it shouldn't have been. Harvey always gets a little handsy when he's had a drink. It's something he's done a thousand times before, the barest of physical contact, yet Jim's convinced now that if Harvey touches him, he'll somehow sense the network of scars that weave their way up his left arm.  
Jim places his hand back on the bar, but Harvey just shrugs and picks up where he'd left off with his story. He keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the night.

The next time, it isn't so easy to brush off.  
It's a stupid mistake. A heatwave hits Gotham — a rarity for a city that scarcely sees the sky for the clouds. They're in a stifling file room, apparently the only one in the GCPD that doesn't have air conditioning. Jim's starting to think the file they're looking for doesn't even exist.

Harvey stops mid-sentence when Jim unthinkingly rolls up his shirtsleeves and raises an arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It takes Jim a moment to process why Harvey's stopped talking: he _sees_. Jim freezes. He can't move, hardly breathes as Harvey stares wide-eyed at the dozens of raised white lines that criss-cross his left arm and a few fresh ones still pink and healing on his right.

Harvey doesn't get angry, and Jim's surprised to realize that that's what he would've wanted. He wants Harvey to shout the same way he does when Jim's too caught up in his own recklessness to listen to reason. He wants Harvey to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, to scream _what the fuck've you done to yourself, you stupid prick?!_

But Harvey doesn't get angry. He doesn't shout. He doesn't say anything at all, just pulls Jim into a hug by the nape of his neck.

"Sorry," Jim mumbles, feeling... he doesn't know what, but the weight of Harvey's arms around him keeps Jim grounded and he leans in closer despite the suffocating heat. Harvey laughs tearfully. "I don't—" he begins, struggling to find the words. "God, Jim. You're all I have."

"I know," Jim whispers, tearing up himself as the guilt hits him. "I'm sorry."

"Would you quit apologizing? Jesus. This is my fault, I should've realized... I should've paid more attention. I should've _known_."

Jim abruptly stands back to place his hands on either side of Harvey's face. "No, Harv, look at me," he says in the most sincere tone he can ever remember using. He needs Harvey to hear this and more importantly, he needs Harvey to believe it. "This is not your fault. It's me, I— there's something wrong with me. Something's been wrong for a while."

Harvey doesn't seem to have words for that, either. Instead, he leans forward, lips parted. Jim sees it in slow motion, but he knows the small space between them is closed in half a second and Harvey presses a firm, desperate kiss to his mouth then another, shorter one that's no less earnest.

When Harvey breaks off, he doesn't pull away, just presses his forehead against Jim's and lets out a shaky sigh. "All those times I asked how you were doin' and you just smiled..."

"I— I didn't want to worry you."

Harvey almost laughs. "I worry about your reckless ass all the time. I care about you, Jim. Next time you feel like... doing _that_ — hurtin' yourself — you pick up your phone and you call me instead, okay? I've got you, partner. I always did."

Harvey lets the words hang in the air, his thumb stroking the side of Jim's neck. Jim presses his lips into a thin line in a weak attempt to smile even as tears continue to stream down his face. And god, when Harvey looks at him like that Jim feels like it's all so simple suddenly, and he's wondering why he didn't come to him sooner. Because Harvey _has_ got him. Harvey'll be supportive and kind and caring like he always is. Always has been. Harvey will be _here_ , and he can't fix Jim but he's gonna try anyway and really, that's all that ever mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I am very sorry! If you have a minute, leave a comment telling me what you thought, I'd love to know. If you don't have a minute, just leave kudos ;)


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